


A Stay At the Inn

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Dean Seamus and Ginny Meddling, Divorce, Dorks in Love, F/F, Flashbacks, Fleur and Ginny Friendship, Fluffy Ending, Hermione making a fool of herself, In a small way, Light Angst, Look they're all grown up, M/M, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Mutual Pining, Nerd Hermione, POC Hermione, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Setting Friends Up, Shenanigans, Slow Burn, but not abused
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:51:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5688244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the great job with the ministry, the picture perfect family, and a life full of adventure; Hermione Granger realizes that she is deeply unhappy with her life. Deciding to make a change, she files for divorce and moves into Seamus and Dean's Inn in Ireland. What she doesn't realize, is Fleur also frequents their Inn this time of year. Will she be able to admit her feelings this time, or will she let the opportunity slip past her again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving In

"Thank you so much again, both of you really," Hermione huffed out while climbing the stairs with a heavy trunk.

"'Mione, you know we're always happy to have you." Dean grunted underneath the weight of another trunk.

"Sorry 'bout all this. We have some not so..." Seamus looked quickly over his shoulder at one of the doors and exaggeratedly mouthed 'Magical' "Folks from across the pond."

Dean rolled his eyes but the corner of his mouth twitched up, and Seamus shot him a wink.

"No no no." Hermione rushed not even noticing the exchanged as she hauled the trunk over the last step. It landed with a heavy thud. "I'm swearing off it for a bit. I need to return some version of reality for a bit and that one is much simpler."

Seamus and Dean shared a very skeptical look. 

"Susan Bones' new book talks all about it, especially us muggle born it's good every once in awhile. They way she explained it..." Hermione continued to rant on as they managed to get the trunks into one of the deceptively large rooms off the hall. It held a full sized studio apartment that, from the size of the inn, most muggles would call a clever trick of an open floor plan and high ceilings. 

Dean eventually cut in, "Sorry but don't look under the sheets in that corner." He pointed to a large pile of portraits under a paint spattered canvas sheet. "We had to move some of the moving portraits because of the new guests and ran out of room in ours."

"Oh," Hermione's interest immediately piqued. "Do you get a lot of muggle customers?"

"Well we try to keep a mostly magical clientele, but we were strapped for cash a few times and then Dean's father put the inn on the... The?" Seamus brow creased while searching for the word.

"The internet."

"Ah that's right the internet! And we had a muggle couple come and stay, apparently they went on the internet too and said it had a 'magical charm'." Seamus rolled his eyes. "Haven't been able to get rid of all of them since. But I won't turn away good business."

Dean chuckled, "Don't worry, Fleur always comes up this time of year to spend some time with us too."

Hermione’s eyebrows disappeared into her semi-wild hair, "Fleur?! Why?"

"Ouch it's a good place!" Seamus held a hand over his heart in mock shock.

"No, it's just," Hermione sputtered out. "I don't know I never pictured her...? Here?"

Seamus couldn't resist, "Picture her a lot 'Mione?" His eyebrows waggled. Hermione rolled her eyes but blushed deeply.

Dean shooed him out, "Don't you have work! You certainly won't, if you keep bothering our patrons." He shot Hermione an apologetic smile before shutting the door quietly behind him.

Hermione slumped back on the bed. But she was one never to truly rest, and her mind was instantly off to the races. 

When was the last time she had seen Fleur... She had probably seen her children off to Hogwarts at the same time as Hermione. Perhaps, it was the Weasley family Christmas party, but between her work and her trying to find the best time to tell Ron she wanted a divorce, they hadn't really talked. The more she thought, the more she realized Fleur and herself had been dancing around each other for years now, their paths briefly crossing without any serious connection. 

She decided to unpack to try and keep her hands busy, futilely hoping that it might help still her mind. The apartment was simple, but she didn't have a lot to furnish it with. It was very different from the home... House she shared with Ron. Between her busy work schedule, the kids, and the Weasley tendency to take up space, the house was always cluttered and chaotic even after the kids were sent off to Hogwarts. 

The first pangs of guilt began to churn in her stomach. Was the divorce the right move for their children? She had tried to make everything perfect. She married her best friend, they had children at the same time as all of their friends, they had the house and the jobs with the ministry. But as always, that deep dissatisfaction had followed her from Hogwarts, through their adventures, and their happiness until it overtook her life and she had to throw it all away. Well not all of it, but to her it felt like she was packing up and abandoning her entire life's plan.

In a sense she was, and that had resulted in her showing up to this especially rainy corner of Ireland. Outside her window, it was dripping steadily down, streaking across her window. Beyond the small lake, lay a few rolling grey green hills that would normally be dotted with pillowy sheep, maybe a donkey or cow. It was quiet, except for the occasional car racing past towards the village, the roads hugging the curves of the hills which pressed them to edges of the cliffs with overgrown hedges. It was everything London wasn't, and that was all Hermione needed. 

The stone of the inn let the wet cold seep in, and even though it was only fall, it settled into her bones. She started down the stairs and found herself in front of an ancient hearth with some fire whiskey. A still portrait by Dean hung above the mantle, depicting a familiar castle that rose on a cliff before a large black lake with snowy mountains dotted the background. Hermione felt a deep ache in her chest. There was no great cracks in its sides, the original astronomy tower remained as a faithful sentry to the night sky, just like the pictures she had studied for hours before she had the opportunity to walk the halls all those fateful years ago.

"It 'as been too long since I 'ave been back there." A light French accent breezed across Hermione, and she nearly spit out the firewhiskey she had been sipping. "Oh! Merde! I thought you knew I was 'ere! Sorry!" Fleur quickly grabbed a napkin and dabbed up what little had sloshed out of her glass.

"No, no I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I mean I was just lost in thought." Hermione rambled in equal apology, her ears were burning under her curls.

"Is this seat taken?" Fleur eyes glanced towards the over-sized armchair next to Hermione. 

"No, please." She took a gulp of firewhiskey to calm her nerves, and her eyes flitted between the fire, the bar and the portrait. 

Fleur tucked her legs beneath her, sinking deep into the armchair. 

"So, 'ave you come 'ere before?" Fleur's deep blue eyes turned to Hermione, a light smile on her lips. 

"Ah, no, I've... I've just moved in actually." Hermione confessed to the glass in her hand. 

Fleur paused, but despite the grace she carried herself with, she didn't find she had time to dance around delicate topics. "Ahh, 'ow is Ginny taking it?"

Hermione's head whipped towards her, mouth open and eyebrows locked together. Fleur laughed at her own joke, "She is very protective of 'er brothers, no? I mean she nearly 'illed me for marrying Bill and again when we split up."

Hermione's eyes closed in a moment of realization. "I am so stupid. How could I forget Bill and your divorce?!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "I am so sorry! I-"

"Non, non. Please, sometimes, I zink Madame Weasley likes to zink zat ve vere never married!" Her accent bubbled up with her laughter, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh with her. 

"Honestly, I don't know if she knows yet." She couldn't hide her grimace. 

"Oh, you will. She apparated into this inn ranting. A poor muggle couple I was sitting near almost 'ad a 'eart attack."

Hermione thought back to the last Christmas party. "But I thought you and Ginny were close now?"

"Oh we are," Fleur swirled her wine glass before leaning in. "She became my... Uh, comment dit-on?" She waved her long fingers in a lazy circle hoping to procure the word. "Confidant!"

Hermione's eyebrows flashed together for a moment, but she nodded along. She stared into the fire, the long day and heavy conversation starting to wear on her. "Your English has come a long way." She complimented after a pause. 

"Ah, yes time and Ginny." Fleur rolled her eyes and her mouth quirked up at a memory, "Bill told me I shouldn't lose my accent because it would 'elp me 'Get ze ladies.'"

Hermione did choke on her firewhiskey this time. 

Dean showed up as Fleur was struggling between laughing and helping a struggling Hermione. "I was going to ask if you two were settling in alright, but I guess that answers that."

"Lovely portrait!" Hermione choked out pointing above the mantle. 

Dean spent sometime chatting with them, reminiscing about their times at Hogwarts before he went to help rescue Seamus from an unruly local at the bar. But, Fleur and Hermione continued on hardly noticing the patrons slowly leaving as they talked easily into the night. Seamus and Dean snuck away, unwilling to tear the two apart from one another. 

When the peat simmered down to mere embers, they began to notice the silence of the inn and went their separate ways, their heads still swimming with their conversations long after their heads had hit their pillows.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have free time before school starts again, so I will be posting chapters as I write more and then will go to a weekly schedule when I go back. Once again I hope you enjoy, and please kudos or comment, I love to hear from anyone. This one is shorter but I just finished chapter 3 and it's much much longer.

As the sunset, the crisp new winter air crept into the grounds. The wind howled around the highest towers, but it never reached inside the castle doors. Inside, the warm clashed with the decorative snow and the students were buzzing with excitement waiting to enter the doors to the great hall. 

Everyone was laughing and smiling in their formal wear. Hermione's tamed hair fell in long controlled curls reaching past the dark skin of her shoulder to kiss the top of her deep blue dress. She glided down the staircase, her feet ghosting over the steps giving her a graceful beauty that was marred by the deep crease between her eyes which scanned the students below her. She desperately was trying to recall who she was supposed to be looking for. 

Professor McGonagal appeared by her side, the only one looking cross while everyone else enjoyed themselves. You must go join the champions. Her mouth never moved but Hermione found herself by Viktor Krum's side nonetheless. He looked ahead, his broad shoulders set square, his serious frown only making him look more like a champion than angry. 

The moment she wrapped her hand in his offered elbow, the whispers started and the cold burst through the hallway.

She doesn't love him.  
What does he see in her?  
Mudblood with a prince.  
She doesn't even like him.  
What's wrong with her?   
Mudblood 

Her head flew around wildly trying to catch the culprits ready to hex anyone who dared challenge her, but everyone's mouth was open in a collective laughter or in wide smiles. Before she could figure out what was going on, she found herself being lead into the champion's dance.

Krum's face was set into a soft, fond smile that he had reserved for her in the solitude of the library. But the dance was fast and jerky, and Hermione found herself dizzy and shivering in the Great Hall. Then, Krum held her to his chest lightly and whispered in her ear, the memory from all those years ago mingling with the dream.

"I know you don't love me. It's ok. There is so much you don’t understand yet." He looked down at her sadly before he spun her away. 

She collided with soft arms, and the cacophonous laughter of the Great Hall died. Hermione looked up to find herself pressed to Fleur, who supported her with the ease of a Champion. She composed herself and without a word, they both started dancing, gliding and spinning easily between the frozen students. The frost that had begun to slick the floor melted at their feet. Blue eyes stared into brown and they switched between leads wordlessly. 

Someone wrenched her away by her arm, and the noise and the frost returned. She glimpsed a flash of green in the corner, before she collided with Ron's soaking wet chest.

Why don't you love me?! His mind echoed into her.

The dread started to seep in with the cold at her feet.

Is it because of him?!  
She tried to scream back, but a gold chain had wrapped around her neck. It lashed out to grab Ron's neck but he barely noticed, his eyes glazing over. Somewhere to her left, there was another burst of green, but she couldn't turn her head to look. 

A locket with an S deeply engraved on it started whispering incoherently to her. Her fingers clambered at the chain, but as her fingers clawed at the chain, it tightened into her. 

She fell to her knees gasping for air. A snake slithered at the edge of her ballgown, and where they touched the dressed blackened and the silk transformed, itching and clinging like Bellatrix’s dress had. Nagini wrapped herself around her, and Hermione had no idea if she had stopped breathing or fighting. 

The snake looked into her eyes and stated with the high cold voice of lord Voldemort, So much to learn about love.

Nagini struck at her with knife like fangs in her forearm and Hermione woke up screaming on the unforgiving floor, sweat rolling off of her. She looked at her forearm, long red claw marks she must have made herself sliced at the faint scar from Bellatrix.   
She tried to suck in air before getting up on shaky legs. No one came to the door. And Hermione sat on the edge of the bed practicing her breathing techniques, recalling all the Headmasters of Hogwarts in order. 

Soon, the sun weakly shown through the mist, and she tracked the faint glow as it rose over the small lake. Mechanically, she dressed for work before realizing with dread she had actually taken this week off. She removed her ministry robes in favor a more muggle friendly clothing option. 

Descending the stairs, she couldn't help but smile a little bit as she passed Seamus wearing a flowery apron that was sure to have a story behind it. 

"Hey how was your first night? Not too bad, right? I did the spell work for that one myself." He was grinning while making full English breakfasts in the kitchen, or really having the cookware make breakfast while he kept an eye out for muggle patrons.

"It's lovely Seamus really." But, the circles under her eyes must have betrayed her.

"Don't worry it has a good muffato charm on it too. Being on the run wasn't easy on him." They looked out at Dean who was serving a customer in the corner, laughing.

"Probably didn't help that I was up so late." Hermione tried steering the conversation away, uncomfortable which such a heavy silence so early.

"Yeah, I saw you and Fleur talking." Hermione's cheeks got very warm, and she remembered the better bits of her dream. Seamus grinning pressed on.

"You know the charm works really well against the good kind of screaming too." He wagged his eyebrows up and down cartoonishly. 

Hermione was too startled to laugh, and instead swatted his arm with a loud, "Seamus Finnegan!" 

Dean had walked over at that moment and looked between Hermione's sputtering and Seamus's gut-wrenching laughter. "I don't know what you said, but go back to the kitchen where you belong." He swatted at Seamus with a dish towel while he was still cackling, rolling his eyes, "I swear, I can't leave you alone with anyone." 

The stairs creaked, and they saw Fleur smiling down confused. Her clothes were simple and conservative, perfect for the weather, but Hermione still felt her mouth go dry and her mind wander back to her dream. The feel of those soft arms around her. The strong muscles of her back under her hand. The sure and steady blue eyes never leaving her own. 

"Would you care to join me for breakfast, 'Ermione?" She said easily.

Hermione managed to nod before following her out. She didn't even see Dean sneak back into the kitchen grinning like a man who had just won a lot of money. 

They were both happy to have an easy silence fall over them at breakfast, as they sat in armchairs looking out at the weak morning light. Eventually, the tea was finished, and Hermione wasn't feeling as bad about not working. Fleur was still beside her, lost in her own thoughts before she turned to face Hermione.

"'Ave you seen the town yet?" One leg was curled under the other and she let her empty mug of tea dangle in the hand that rested on her knee.

"Only from the window." Hermione's hands were curled around the mug trying to draw the last bits of warmth from it. 

It drew a small laugh from her, her lips curling upwards. "Would you like to join me for a walk then?" Hermione smiled and agreed. 

They pulled on coats and hats to ward off the early morning autumn chill, and waved a quick goodbye to Dean who was finishing clearing the tables.

They set off shoulder to shoulder down the narrow road. A chipped but steady rock wall stayed in pace with them, and the road curved with its boundaries. The grey, green hill lead up to squat houses that dotted the hillside partially obscured by the morning mist that still hovered over the valley. The sun was steadily trying to burn it away, but provided enough light for them to walk by. The small lake stretched out to their left, its inky black surface had few ripples and its streams ran gurgling away. 

Hermione's head was steadily scanning everything, not wanting to miss a moment of this rare quiet. Fleur looked on ahead down the path or turned to watch Hermione try to take it in, remembering her own wonder of its quiet beauty years before and delighted to share it with her. 

But eventually, Hermione was bouncing up and down with each step trying to think of something to fill the quiet. Fleur's own shoulders bobbed up and down with a silent laughter, before she came to the other witch's rescue. The small village was almost in view.

"I am sorry to bring you all this way for such a little town." Fleur nudged her shoulder with her own. 

Hermione startled a little bit, which Fleur noticed and couldn't help but laugh lightly at earning an eye roll from Hermione. "No, I wanted to see it. Also, I don't have any plans this holiday." 

Fleur's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and a grin settled easily on her face. "Really? 'Ermione Granger with no plans and no books to read." 

Hermione remembered her Fourth year at Hogwarts again, settled in the library, Krum ghosting behind her. Whenever she got up to get a new book, she'd see the signature beauxbatons blue. Then she began looking for her, catching glimpses of blonde hair curving again the delicate jaw as her deep blue eyes absorbed every bit of information in whatever book that was held in her long slender fingers. 

She shook her head out of her memory. "Actually, I do have a few books." She continued to babble on about her various books as they walked through town. Fleur listened attentively, only interrupting her to ask a few questions or point out the little shops. Soon, they had walked through the town, but Hermione showed no signs of stopping. Fleur steered them on her favorite walking path, becoming more engrossed in the conversation with each step. The words became less nervous and rushed as Hermione continued on, and she had lost herself completely, not realizing they had finished a small walk around the lake until they stood in front on the inn again.   
"Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't even realize." Hermione faced her, eyes wide, hair wild in light breeze. 

"Non. Non. I enjoyed our conversation. You should join me by the fire, later. It is the best spot for reading." Fleur opened the door and Hermione entered, nodding eagerly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a few years since I lived in England, but I think I have managed the accents. Feel free to yell at me in the comments. Also, I couldn't resist with the Harold reference. Ginny is the most protective younger sister, and I will fight anyone who says she isn't a kick ass Quidditch player.

The rest of the week passed with an ease and familiarity that Hermione hadn’t felt in years. She spent her mornings walking with Fleur and the evenings reading with her by the fire. The anxiety she felt over every holiday eased away with their conversations which seemed to flow steadily and filled the small inn with life. 

Sunday night was trivia night, and the two witches couldn’t resist the temptation. The pub had quickly filled up with locals and foreigners alike, and they recognized a few friends from Hogwarts. 

“Cho!” Hermione happily waved to her. The glass in front of her still had some foam clinging to the sides, but not much else.

“Hermione, good to see you! How are the kids?” She looked surprised to see her. 

“They’re well, at Hogwarts right now. Hopefully not getting into too much trouble.” Cho smiled and nodded to Fleur who greeted her warmly. 

A shorter man with a thick brown mustache came over with two drinks. “‘ullo!” His mustache curled with his wide smile. 

“These are some of my old schoolmates, dear. Hermione and Fleur.” Cho introduced them politely. 

“Nice ter meet yous. Me name’s Harold. Do yous two ‘uv a team yet?” Fleur looked at Hermione thoroughly confused.

“Uh just us.” Hermione glanced between Fleur and Harold shrugging. 

“Oh we shouldn’t bother them, dear.” Cho placed a hand on her husband’s arm. 

“Bushwa! Ay need ter beat O’Riley, and ‘ow could ay lose wi’ the tree most cutsy and smart womun e’yer?” Harold grabbed two stools and dragged them back to their small table while Hermione translated as best as she could and Cho shifted back and forth on her feet. 

“Where’s Ron?” Cho asked while fiddling with her glass. 

“Back in London.” Hermione answered quickly, glancing at Fleur. “So, how did you two meet?”

“I decided to live in Liverpool for a bit after… School. Change of scenery. We met at work.” Cho smiled a bit, but her leg was bouncing up and down. 

“That’s not de oole story! She saved my liofe, she did!” Cho blushed and Harold launched into a long winded story which cheered her up. Fleur leaned forward, knees brushing the side of Hermione’s leg, and she looked between Harold and Hermione working hard to understand. Luckily, she was saved by Seamus’s booming voice. 

“OI! Listen up! Do yer tink yer ‘av waaat it takes ter becum de trivia champion?!” A roar came up from the pub. Hermione looked to Fleur whose cheeks were round and red with a deep smile, she winked and Hermione laughed, grinning. 

“Come ‘ere O’Riley an’ gimme tha crown! Yer can’t keep it forever.” Seamus got the crown back from a reluctant, rotund Irishman. 

“Oi win ‘er back yet!” He shook a plumb finger at Seamus which earned a good laugh from the crowd. 

“Not if ay 'uv anyth'n ter do wi' it, O’Riley!” Harold shouted back, raising his glass to him and earning another round of laughter.

Hermione leaned in towards Fleur to be heard, “Is it like this every week?” 

Fleur’s cheek brushed lightly against Hermione’s curls, “It was much smaller, when I first started coming ‘ere, but now.” She leaned back in her chair and gestured around them. “I say zat it is because I started to ‘elp Seamus pick ze wine, but ‘e will never say zat.” Fleur raised her wine glass to Hermione who laughed and raised her’s in return. 

Dean explained the rules to the unruly crowd, the regulars shouting at each other cheerfully. Hermione watched Fleur who was taking in everything around her, she seemed to buzz with life and was just as much at home in the overcrowded pub as she was their quiet walks. 

Fleur turned and caught her eye, and her smile widened even more. “Tu es prête? I do not often play, but I never lose.” 

Hermione had to laugh, her heart was racing at the thought of Fleur’s competitive side. “Oh really? Well,” she leaned in with a grin, “neither do I.” Blue eyes met brown and neither made any attempt at moving away. 

A piece of paper was passed between them by someone from behind, and the odd little team started working through the questions. Fleur and Hermione excitedly bounced questions and answers off of one another, their shoulders pressed together both hunched over the paper. Cho solved a few of the trickier riddles, and Harold proved very useful for the more obscure muggle references, but for the most part they sat back while the two witches immersed themselves in the challenge. Harold chuckled and kept glancing at the crown with a wide grin. 

There was a several cracks outside that could barely be heard over the muttering crowd. “Must be lightning,” dismissed Harold. Hermione and Fleur were animatedly discussing the history behind the last question they answered and didn’t notice. 

Singing voices were growing louder until the inn door blew in with a great gust of wind and six muddy women barreled through the door singing Weasley Is Our Queen at the top of their lungs before pushing in a seventh redheaded player through the door. 

“Oi! You’re late!” Seamus shouted. 

“Well, we had to win the match before we beat all yer bloody arses, didn’t we?” Ginny laughed while pushing through to the bar for a drink and a wink. And her team and a few of the other patrons shouted and laughed with her. Once they were all settled, everyone went back to muttering and quickly scribbling answers on paper. 

“Wa’ funny rugby uniforms.” Harold said with a chuckle. 

Hermione’s face was ashen, and she turned to Fleur who couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I’m sorry ‘Ermione, but we all ‘ave to face ‘er eventually.” Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Fleur shook her head. “Don’t worry, she’s not as scary as she likes everyone to zink.” Fleur took another sip of her wine to avoid laughing at the comically frightened look on Hermione’s face.

Cho interrupted them, “Ginny Potter?”

“Weasley, but yes.” Fleur replied.

Cho stuttered under Fleur’s gaze, but turned to Hermione, “She broke up with Michael over a Quidditch game, I don’t know what you did to make her mad.” Cho’s eyes darted quickly to Fleur before she continued, “But I would definitely be worried.”

Hermione snorted, “No offense, but your friends have never been reliable. I wouldn’t take Michael's word on that.” 

Cho’s face turned scarlet and she hissed back, “She was a child. We all were. She was trying to protect her mother.” Harold’s moustache drooped into a frown, and he looked between the women, unsure of what they were discussing. 

Hermione couldn’t stop herself, “Protect her mother by what? Snitching on kids. She knew what would happen.” Cho eyes flicked to the faint scars on the back of Hermione’s clenched fist which rested on the small table between them.

Fleur’s hand touched Hermione’s shoulder, and she flinched but then forced herself to relax under Fleur’s long, delicate fingers which lightly rubbed her back. “I think that we ‘ave all paid our price. But, we must remember that is ‘istory now.” She spoke slowly, carefully crafting an uneasy truce between them.

Cho and Hermione nodded to one another before going back to the questions being announced. Harold reluctantly supplied the ones they missed after checking that his wife was ok. 

Fleur removed her hand from Hermione’s back, and Hermione was surprised at how much she missed the warmth. She put her still clenched fist in her lap, trying to concentrate on the questions. But, Fleur’s fingers slipped past her wrist, gently wrapping around the fingers that ached and her thumb soothed over the scar as if she knew exactly where it was. The action was meant to be comforting, but it send an electric jolt directly to Hermione’s heart. 

Hermione’s memory slipped back as Fleur and Cho discussed a particularly difficult question. It was one of the small moments when she had regained consciousness at the Shell Cottage. 

Her eyes felt too heavy to open, but she knew Fleur was there. Her light perfume mixed easily with the smell of the ocean and breezed through the room. Hermione’s injuries all ached, but Fleur held her hand so gently that she could only feel it through the warmth that flowed easily from her slightly shaking hand. She muttered softly in French next to her.

Then, she traced her thumb gently across the back of her hand, following the lines of neat, looping script. Hermione could feel herself slipping away again, but the last thing she heard was, “I am sorry, ‘Ermione. ‘Ow could someone do zis?... I promise I-”

“”Ermione, what do you think?” Fleur gently asked, trying to bring her back. 

She shook her head, “Sorry, I didn’t hear the question.” Hermione looked up confused. 

“That’s fine.” Fleur gently squeezed her fingers and then repeated it. Hermione realized she had a death grip on Fleur’s hand, and quickly let go, wiping her sweaty palm on her pants. 

“Um, I’m not certain. Sorry, I’m going to get another drink, would anyone care for anything?” The room suddenly felt unusually hot for the season and Hermione did not stick around to hear their responses, finding it hard to breathe. 

“Double firewhiskey, Seamus,” Hermione rasped out as soon as she fought her way to the bar. She drank it all in one go as soon as it was in front of her. 

“You ok?” He looked worried as he poured a half pint for another customer. She nodded and ordered another.

She started to head back to her table when she locked eyes with Ginny and froze. Hermione Granger had always kept moving even as her fellow classmates had died around her and hadn’t even hesitated to erase her own parent’s memories, but she couldn’t face her ex’s sister. Ginny raised her glass to her and mouthed “After”, before turning back to her teammates. 

Hermione hurried back to her table with her life still intact. She sit slumped down and she almost slid off her chair into Fleur. “Don’t worry Harold, Ginny’s not going to kill me until after the competition.” She sighed into the glass, and Fleur frowned at her. 

Cho couldn’t help herself, “What did you do anyways?” Harold nudged her lightly, but when she didn’t stop, he focused on the competition trying and failing to talk to Fleur. 

“Ronald and I are getting a divorce.” Hermione stated, sick of hiding it. 

“Oh…” Cho busied herself with the questions and it ended soon after. 

“Alright! Papers to the front!” Dean called out. “Pencil’s down! That means you Mike!” 

While they were waiting for him to announce the winner, Fleur excused herself and Hermione watched as she slipped away and was lost in the crowd. Harold’s friend Jim came over and they introduced him to Hermione. She was mostly quiet, but he persistently asked her questions and even to dance, once a small local band set up in a corner and enough people were shoved over to make a dance floor. She declined, all she could think about was how unusually cold her hand felt without Fleur’s. 

Dean came back the same time she did, and Hermione’s interest raised again. Unfortunately, so did Jim’s. He let Fleur have her seat back and tried to ask her questions while Dean began the announcements, and she waved him away, annoyed at the interruption. 

Hermione was glaring daggers at Jim, but he didn’t seem to notice as he continued to be enthralled by Fleur. She also didn’t notice when they were announced the winners, until Harold leapt up cheering and then kissing his wife like he had just won the lottery. 

Fleur turned to Hermione and wrapped her in a tight hug which Hermione was almost too surprised to return. Fleur whispered in her ear, “I told you I never lose.” 

When they broke the embrace, Harold excitedly shook their hands and kissed them on the cheek. Cho apologized for him as he ran up to Dean and hugged him too before shoving the crown on his head and accepting a reluctant handshake from O’Riley. 

“Would you ladies mind if I buy you a congratulatory drink?” Jim looked between them. 

“Sorry, I must go say ‘ello to my friend,” Fleur dodged around him and headed towards the bar. 

“Sorry,” Hermione followed quickly after and then snuck into a quieter section of the pub after quickly saying goodbye to Cho. 

She stayed there for awhile accepting congratulations from a few people and chatting to some old classmates. Eventually, the inn started to empty and Ginny’s teammates were now just muddy empty bar stools and spots on the floor next to her. 

Hermione steeled herself and walked up to Ginny. “Before you start yelling, I just want to say, no let me finish,” She pointed a finger at Ginny who grinned at Fleur before she hid it behind a sip of her beer. “I’m not getting back with Ron. This is a good thing. It’s not his fault or mine and no amount of yelling is going to change that. No, the kids don’t know yet, and that’s none of your business. Yes, I’m living here; and yes, Ron is still at the house. It was my idea so I wasn’t going to kick him out. And yes, I still want to be apart of the Weasleys, but if you all have to be mad at me so be it, it still won’t make us happy!” She took in a big gulp of air, hands on her hips and waited. “Well then!”

Ginny laughed a little bit, “Hermione sit down before you have a stroke.” She patted the bar stool next to her and signaled to Seamus for another beer. “I know, Ron told us everything. I’m not mad as long as you’re ok.” She turned to Fleur. “Does everyone think I’m that scary?”

Fleur shrugged and smiled behind her glass. 

“Finnegan!” Seamus dropped behind the bar trying to run away, and Ginny laughed when he peeked over the edge. “Oh, this is too much power. But, as I was saying, it’s fine. Mum’s confused, but she doesn’t care as long as she has her grandchildren. Harry wants to drop by sometime, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. You’re all welcome whenever.” Hermione bit her lip. “You’re really fine with this?”

“We were 18, it’s amazing we haven’t all killed each other by now, let alone made it this far.” Ginny shared a look with Dean who was helping to clean behind the bar. “Besides I always figured you two were like Bill and Fleur.” Fleur and Hermione both choked a bit on their beers. 

Fleur’s cheeks were flaming red. “Er. What. At least- No. I don’t know what- No.” Hermione managed to sputter out. “Anyways how was the match?”

Ginny launched into a long explanation that Hermione mostly tuned out of, except for the occasional question. The conversation became easier afterwards as they began chatting and catching up. 

“Do you come for the quizzes often?”

“Oh, I try to come after matches with the team, it's nice to get out and bond away from the pitch. Speaking of which,” Ginny looked around and noticing the muggles had all left, magicked the mud out of her clothes and cleaned up the floors. “Whenever, Harry can look after the kids or sometimes he comes, too. You were on a team with Cho weren’t you, how’d that go?”

“It was alright.” Hermione brushed some of the hair out of her eyes, face grimacing while remembering the small fight. “She was a little rude to Fleur.” Ginny looked to the witch in question. 

“Non, non. It was not like that.” Fleur waved a hand dismissing the thought. “But of course, she was. You must think of the last time we saw each other. I think she was crying too much to even remember I was at Cedric’s funeral.”

They all nodded and were silent for a few moments, but soon they were back to chatting and reminiscing with Seamus and Dean joining in while they cleaned up. Ginny left for the loo, and Fleur moved over to sit next to Hermione. 

“This was a wonderful last night.” Hermione murmured. 

“It is not over yet,” Fleur replied. Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot, but Fleur laughed and covered herself quickly, “I mean you still live ‘ere, you may go back to work and I may go ‘ome, but I can visit.” It was Fleur’s turn to blush. “I mean if you want me to visit.” She rubbed the back of her neck not daring to look at Hermione.

Hermione laughed and Fleur turned towards her slightly shocked, until Hermione put her hand on Fleur’s other arm which rested on the counter, hand wrapped around a finished glass. “Of course, I would love if you visited me. Anytime.” 

Ginny coughed and both witches jumped in surprise quickly separating. Fleur stood up in a poor attempt to hide her startled response. 

“I am exhausted. It was nice to see you again Ginny.” She quickly hugged Ginny and turned to Hermione. “I ‘ave enjoyed our week, ma chérie.” After a moment’s hesitation, she kissed her on both cheeks, lips brushing against the skin for a second longer than was strictly necessary, which set Hermione’s heart racing. Fleur’s cheeks were bright red when she pulled away, and Hermione was frozen, eyes round. “Please, do send me an owl soon.” She bid Seamus goodnight and smiled at Hermione’s delayed farewell. 

Ginny was grinning ear to ear as she sat down in Fleur’s recently vacated seat. Once Hermione recovered enough, she wasted no time teasing her, “So... You had a nice holiday.” Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to even pretend to glare at her. “No seriously, you deserve to be happy.” Ginny turned to face her, but Hermione turned away only to find Seamus grinning while wiping down the last few glasses. 

“Not you too!” Hermione shook her head, and Seamus shrugged. “No! Nothing happened between us.” Ginny and Seamus both stared at her, disbelieving. “No really! Merlin’s beard, I swear you two have the wildest imaginations.”

Dean snuck up behind her, “That was some kiss ‘Mione.” 

Hermione turned around and swatted him on the arm. “She’s French! It’s their custom. Bloody hell, it’s even British custom sometimes.” 

“Dean, you kiss your mum like that?” Seamus asked. 

“No, sir.” Dean said while skillfully avoiding another slap from Hermione. 

“It was on the cheek. You know what? This is utterly ridiculous. I will not be interrogated in a pub on my last day of my holiday.” Hermione stood up, hands in the air.

“Alright, alright, we’ll let it go.” Ginny gave Seamus a warning look when he started to whine. “But Hermione in all seriousness.” Her voice turned grave and Hermione made the mistake of looking directly at her deathly serious face which once made Draco run down a differently hallway after learning exactly what it threatened. “She has been through enough. And if you hurt her, even as a friend, I will make sure you feel every ounce of her pain because she wouldn’t ever hurt you.” Ginny lean back after deciding that she got the message. 

Dean tossed the bar towel over his shoulder and crossed his arms. “Was that really necessary?” 

Ginny crossed her arms back at him, the muscles underneath her quidditch uniform flexed impressively. “I always make that speech, I’m not going to break tradition.” She half shrugged not looking the least bit sorry. 

“What do you mean by always?” Hermione’s curiosity took over her fear. 

Ginny grinned, “Well there’s you, I did it to Fleur before she married Bill, Ron before your wedding, Seamus-” 

“You threatened Seamus?!” Dean looked between the two. 

“Well yes, after Dean and I split up and I set you two up.” Ginny said it as if she handed out threats like she breathed, which was proving to be more and more accurate. 

Seamus shrugged and then smiled fondly at Ginny, “Actually, I think I was the first one she threatened.” He squeezed Dean’s hand which did not calm him down. 

Dean pointed his towel at Ginny, “No more threatening my boyfriend.” He went back to cleaning grumpily, but Ginny and Seamus grinned at each other behind his back. 

“This is too weird for me. Good night, tell Harry he’s welcome whenever.” Hermione fled upstairs before she could be threatened by anyone else, and Ginny waved cheerfully at her. 

Once they decided she was out of earshot, Ginny and Dean turned on Seamus, “You’ll owe us 5 galleons each by the end of the week.” Ginny laughed heartily. 

Seamus grumbled unhappily. They could catch a few phrases such as “Attacked in my own pub” and “bloody cheaters”. He eventually threw down his towel and headed back to their room with a half hearted wave at Ginny. 

Dean properly said goodbye to Ginny before she apparated away in the empty pub. Upstairs Hermione was desperately trying to find sleep, but it was useless as her cheeks were on fire and she played over every interaction she had with Fleur. She vaguely wondered if she was just becoming ill as sleep finally took over her late in the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter, but I am going back to school soon so hopefully I will be able to post weekly but it may be in flux at times.

Hermione threw herself back into her work before the smoke cleared from the floo network. Her shoes clicked at a quick pace on the stone floors as her quill scratched ceaselessly on parchment memos, only quick greetings were exchanged as she scurried to her office. She couldn’t help but feel at home and at peace under the constant pressure of getting back to speed, issuing orders and writing reports. 

By the time she had gotten back to the inn, the sun had long set and Seamus had saved her a plate for dinner which she scarfed down. Dean was painting something he wasn’t letting anyone see in the corner. Hermione was rambling to him about her day between bites of her shepard’s pie. 

“So, I told Mr. Flint that I do infact know the new laws regarding the protection of house elves, seeing as I wrote them.” Hermione popped the last piece of her pie in her mouth grinning like the cat who caught the canary. 

Dean chuckled behind the large portrait. They both turned to the window when they heard a tapping. Seamus rushed over to open it, but Dean got to it first. Seamus pouted. Dean blocked the access to his painting, “No way. It’s bad luck to see an unfinished painting.” 

Seamus’s pout turned to a wicked grin, “What? Are you painting me like one of your French girls?”

Dean groaned and turned around, “I can’t believe my sisters showed you that.” 

Seamus plucked the letter from his hand, and his eyebrows shot up. The grin suddenly turned on Hermione, “Oo la la. Speaking of French girls.” Hermione tried to casually grab the letter, but Seamus dodged her. 

He started to open the letter. “That is against decree number… Number… Oh bloody hell it’s just plain rude! Seamus Finnigan give me my letter or I swear on Merlin’s-”

Seamus made a scandalized face as he walked back towards the bar. Neither noticed as the small tawny owl followed them, scaring the muggle couple in the corner. 

“Oh my, Hermione.” Seamus laughed as he ducked behind the safety of the bar. “I didn’t know that was physically possible.” Hermione was livid which was only egging him on even more. “Should I read it to you?” Seamus cleared his throat and pitched his voice as high it would go, putting on a grotesque version of a French accent. “My dearizt ‘Ermione, I cannot sleep. I cannot eat. I spend my dayz zinking only of your-” The owl swooped down and grabbed the letter with surprising strength, bringing it to its intended recipient. 

Hermione gave the tiny bird a treat before storming upstairs with the letter. It clutched onto her shoulder and turned its head around to glare at Seamus. 

“The Brits are so strange.” The American couple chuckled nervously with one another. 

Once she was in the safety of her locked room, she read and reread the surprisingly short letter. 

Chère Hermione,

Only a day has passed, yet I already miss our walks and talks. I find the London streets to be a poor substitute and the company lacking (the Goblins do not understand the need for holidays). Although, as I write this, I realize that I may finally get some reading done without your wonderful distractions. I believe that you still have a few of my books, and if you are not too busy, I would love to collect them this Saturday. As always, I eagerly await your fresh perspective on what my mind has turned over until stale. Perhaps, we will even have time for a walk. I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. 

Affectueuses Pensées,

Fleur 

Hermione’s fingers traced over the looping script, and her mouth couldn’t help but turn up at the almost overly formal tone. The paper even smelled slightly of her perfume.

She sat at her desk and her quill was soon scribbling away at the parchment. But the first draft was written to hastily and had to be thrown away. The second rambled too much. The third was too cold and distant. By the fourth, her fingers were coated in ink smudges and ruined the letter. Eventually, she had one she was vaguely satisfied by and sent it off with the owl which had fallen asleep on top of her lamp. 

The instant the owl was out the window, she regretted it. Was she supposed to wait to respond? How did these things work? Was this even a thing? Did Fleur even like her like that? Hermione felt completely inexperienced and did not appreciate it at all. And while she championed knowledge, patience was a virtue that Hermione simply couldn’t stand, making the rest of the week a small nightmare for everyone involved. 

But no matter how slow it may have seemed, time still did pass and Saturday found Hermione sitting in the oversized armchair in front of the fireplace. Her leg was bouncing up and down, and the tea beside her had long been abandoned. Her fingers ran over the well worn spine of Fleur’s book. 

“Aw, you’re such a sap.” She could hear Seamus tell Dean over her shoulder. “It’s gorgeous, but you haven’t won yet.” 

“Just you wait.“ She tried to see what they were looking at but was quickly distracted by the loud crack that came from the staircase. “It’s just the house settling.” Dean assured some muggles by the window. 

But Hermione knew better and started to stand before Fleur rushed down the stairs. “I am sorry, mon ami.” Fleur could only manage a small, sad smile. Strands of her light, blonde hair had come away from her normally carefully pinned style, and she must have missed some of her makeup because deep purple had made a new home beneath her eyes. Yet, she still approached Hermione with light steps that betrayed her ballet training and a poise that shrank any other clues of whatever was wrong. 

For as much as Hermione was moving before, she found herself frozen to the spot, having forgotten the full effect of being in Fleur’s presence again. 

“There was an accident at work, and I ‘ave a very important meeting. Also, I ‘ad forgotten that I promised this book to another dear, dear friend.” Hermione couldn’t help but feel some darkness pool in her heart, sinking it to her stomach which didn’t enjoy the unhappy company. 

“Oh. That’s quite alright. Here.” As soon as Hermione had reluctantly handed her the book off the table, Fleur took it and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before running off again.

“I am so sorry, but it is quite important. Maybe I will stop by Sunday.” She called over her shoulder before apparating in the safety of the staircase. 

Hermione sat back down in the chair. Dean or Seamus came and changed out her tea, but she didn’t notice. Once she felt like she had sufficiently recovered from the whiplash, she brought down the small mountain of paperwork she had planned on neglecting. 

Dean sat in the chair next to her and sipped quietly at his tea. “What are you working on?” 

“Legislative change proposals.” Hermione answered curtly, jaw twitching slightly. 

“Ah I see.” Dean didn’t press on.

“How’s the painting?” Hermione responded back after a long paused only filled with the crackling of the fire and the scratching of her quill.

Dean set his teacup down. “Well, I just finished a piece, but nothing else has really inspired me yet.” 

Hermione paused for a moment before promptly returning to work. “Some of your portraits like to rattle around late at night.” 

Dean froze and turned very gravely towards her. “Which portraits?”

Hermione was too absorbed back in her notes to really notice his horror. “I don’t know, didn’t check.”

“Well if it’s bothering you, I’ll just move the troublemakers.”

“No, no, it’s quite alright, it’s nice to have some noise.” 

“No, I should really move them. I’ll be a good host.” 

“Don’t be daft, I’m the one imposing on you too. Oh, that reminds me.” Hermione turned to Dean. “What is the name of this inn? Someone asked me at work, but I don’t think you ever told me it’s proper name.” 

Dean mumbled something while not looking at her. She raised an eyebrow, “Dean. What is it called?”

“... The Old Cock Inn…” Hermione couldn’t hold back the eyeroll. “Now before you say anything-”

“Really, Dean Thomas, I expected-” Hermione crossed her arms, paperwork forgotten for them moment. 

“That was the name when we bought it… And it was Seamus’s idea to keep it.” Dean made his escape while Hermione turned her unimpressed look on Seamus.

Seamus smiled proudly behind the bar. Hermione knew her disapproval was wasted on him and went back to her paperwork failing to hide a small smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the name of the inn comes from an actual pub from one of the towns I used to live in, which was an endless source of amusement for our visiting American relatives. Also, I figured I'd give you all a bit of humor because there may be angst just around the corner...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, and I'm going to go back through and edit some typos that I'm sure are hiding but I wanted to get this posted before a meeting. Also someone does end up splinching in this chapter, so trigger warning for blood.

Sunday night brought the crowds flooding into the inn again, and although Hermione was glad that business was good for Seamus and Dean, she couldn’t help but feel restless in the pub. She had been wandering around her apartment unable to settle on a book, and when she had tried to go downstairs, the crowds had just made her feel worse. 

She spent most of her time avoiding the small talk with former classmates, and tried to calm herself with a drink, but it only soured her mood further. It was too hot in the small space, strangers were brushing against her and making her skin crawl, everyone was drunk and too loud. 

When she stepped outside, the cold seeped into her skin and she let it settle into her bones, remembering camping with Harry and Ron. A man was smoking on the other side of the door frame. Periodically, the door would open and light and warmth would spill out but soon it would shut them out with a creak of its hinges.

The man turned to glance at her after he had put out his cigarette, extinguishing the embers with the quick point and turn of his toe. He smiled in recognition, and she realized it was the friend of Cho and Harold. She couldn’t remember his name, Tim? James? 

“Hermione? Right, sorry it’s Jim, remember from the other night.” He stuck out his hand, and she reluctantly took it.

“Yes.” She said curtly.

“Where’s that friend of yours? The French one?” He asked eagerly.

“I’m not sure, probably back in London.” She didn’t particularly want to be reminded of Fleur at the moment, in a foolish attempt to not have feelings for someone she had decided was probably taken by some supermodel of a ‘dear, dear friend’. Hermione was now scowling, but Jim didn’t seem to notice or care instead hiding his own disappointment.

“Oh that’s too bad. But you’re here!”

“Yes, I am.” Hermione tried not to roll her eyes.

“Uh, I just meant that you must not be staying on holiday, but I know everyone around here, and no offence, but you’re not a local girl.” She just raised an eyebrow at him. “No your accent, London right, but grew up…” He thought for a second before snapping his fingers. “In the western suburbs!”

She had to nod and give credit it where it was due. “Nice parlor trick.”

“When I was working in Liverpool, that’s how I know Harold and Cho, they used to give me right shite-” He looked shocked. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t-”

Hermione had to laugh at the formality. “It’s not an issue.”

“Sorry,” his blush reached his ears. “Because I’m Irish they thought I couldn’t recognize English accents, so my wife taught me how. She had a great ear for them, because her school- Wait, you went to school with Cho right? You’re like her… right?” His voice lowered and he spoke as softly as he could in his light brogue. 

She raised a wary eyebrow and nodded. 

“Well, so was my wife. Did you know her? Romilda Vane?” He had been looking at the ground, but when his eyes meet Hermione’s she noticed the deep creases in his face which made him look ancient and desperate.

“Yes, she had a massive crush on my best friend Harry.” Hermione didn’t know why she blurted that bit of information, but as it tumbled from her lips she knew he was desperate to know anything about her. “Is she here now?” 

He laughed a bit, “No, you can find her back in Liverpool if you go to West Derby and dig six feet.” He scowled. “Sorry, that was…”

“No, I shouldn’t have asked.” Hermione stood letting the awkwardness settle over them. 

“She mentioned a Harry before.” He looked out past the gravel and dirt parking lot to where the lake was somewhere in the inky black night. “She told me all about the war and stuff, well once time at least. It’s still all rather hard to believe we didn’t notice anything. That there’s this whole world that I grew up and live right next to without seeing. There’s so much we don’t see.”

Hermione didn’t say anything, just let him stand with her outside the noisy inn filled with people that neither could stand to be around quite yet. 

“She wouldn’t talk about it often, just late at night after… After the nightmares. You lot didn’t do much, did you? My brother lost his mind over in Iraq but they have councilors for us, but you don’t have that. She used to bring home all sorts of potions back from London, but they never did anything.” She watched the muscles of his jaw twitch in the second hand light of the inn.

“No. It’s definitely something we’re behind on. There’s a lot of that actually. But because there was so many of us that were involved in the war, they are trying to do better. Even consulting some muggle… Sorry, non-magical experts.” She shrugged knowing that her explanation wouldn’t be enough, nothing touched that kind of pain. “Change is slow in our world. I thought I’d have reformed the whole thing by now, that something that big would change everything. And it did, but not enough.” Hermione felt so tired in that moment, the dark half-rings under her eyes ached and her muscles couldn’t even bother to shiver in the cold. “It’s sort of like after the Second Great War.” 

He nodded slowly, and they stood in silence for a great length of time, but Hermione welcomed it, feeling the heavy weight settle on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, she was always telling me to not be so dark.” He half smiled. “Thank you for listening to me. I should buy you a drink, the night inside is far too cheerful for us to be mourning in the dark over things we cannot change.” 

She smiled weakly, but followed him to the bar. They ended up talking a lot while the bar was filled with the excitement that the pub never seemed to run out of. Jim talked about the sheep farm that he had in the next valley over, and she tried to explain her job in hushed tones and with as much muggle phrasing as she could translate. Eventually, the cold left her bones, and she let the enthusiasm of the room infect her, deciding not to let the evening sour like before. 

Jim was in the middle of inviting her out to his farm, when a light hand gently touched her shoulder and warmth breath ghosted through the curls near her ear, “Surprise, ma chèrie.” 

Hermione turned around and couldn’t keep the smile off of her face. “Fleur!” She hugged her warmly, the strange exchange of yesterday almost forgotten. “I can’t believe you came.”

“Yes, well it was because of you I ‘ave been working so ‘ard.” Fleur completely ignored Jim who’s eyes were starting to glaze over and not objecting to the interruption. “Well, we are still struggling to recover from the events of your last bank robbery. A tunnel collapsed!”

“Wait you robbed a bank?” This seemed to be enough to jerk Jim out of his trance. 

Fleur frowned. Hermione laughed a little bit, ducking her head, “Yes, but there was a good reason.” Jim bellowed out a big laugh at that, shaking his head.

The rest of the evening continued in the same manner, Fleur trying to steal Hermione away with a quick, inside joke only to have her try to explain or include Jim until the French witch sat in sullen silence. The crowd around them had been winding down after the quiz was over, a new champion taking Harold’s place. Hermione was growing worried for Fleur who brushed off her concerns, claiming the stress of work. 

But with every dismissal from Fleur, Hermione remembered why she had been cross with her before. And so she gave up trying to include her and instead focused on Jim, who, despite being slightly confused, was more than happy with the situation. 

“Alright, I’m sorry to say it, but I really do have to go.” Jim fixed the hat on his head and fussed with chair. “I’m glad I had the chance to talk to you Hermione. Thank you for telling me about her, she didn’t always talk about her life before and I’m always happy to have the stories. I would love for you to visit the farm. It’s not much, but sometimes it’s nice to get away.” Fleur barely disguised a slight snort of disgust as a cough, but Jim didn’t seem to care. “And it was nice seeing you again, Fleur. I hope Hermione doesn’t try to rob your bank again.” He winked as he shook Hermione’s hand good-bye before leaving with a final wave to Seamus and Dean. 

Once the door was closed, Hermione turned on Fleur. “What the bloody hell is your problem?” The sharp whisper just made Fleur glare harder at the glass in front of her. Hermione hated that the negative expression did nothing to mar her beauty, so she also refused to look at her, instead glaring at the fireplace.

“I told you-” Fleur drawled, but Hermione was unsatisfied.

“Just because you’re upset with your work, doesn’t mean you get to be rude to a perfectly nice man.” This got Fleur to look at her, but Hermione was still pointedly glaring at the fireplace so she didn’t notice as the Veela’s face was lost in her heartbreak rather than her fury. It only lasted a moment, but it wasn’t a moment Fleur had wanted anyone, let alone Hermione, to see. 

But instead of letting herself wallow, Fleur spit out. “Fine! I’m sorry for interrupting your date!” 

Hermione’s head whipped around in time to see Fleur storm off towards the staircase. “Wait Fleur-” She grabbed a hold of her arm in time to feel the sickening twist, feeling condensed and stretched infinitely. 

When her feet hit the ground hard, Hermione stumbled into Fleur who shrugged her off roughly cursing profusely in French. “No, I will not wait! I will not watch and wait while you- you fall in love again. Merde!” Fleur was clutching her hand closely to her chest, looking for something on the ground. 

It was pitch black, moonless night, but Hermione could smell the salt in the air, hear the waves crash gently somewhere near, and the ground felt soft and gritty under her feet. “This is ridiculous, lumos. What are you talkin-” 

“Are going to help me find my fucking finger or not?” Fleur turned to her, tears streaming down her pale face, her shirt blossoming a dark red on her stomach where she pressed her hand to it. 

Hermione forgot all her anger and magicked the finger to her, now caked in sand and dirt. She cleaned it quickly and helped Fleur who was now kneeling in the sand crying silently, trying not to look at her. 

“Fleur…” Hermione put her hand on her back which was still shaking gently, but then she realized Fleur was laughing.

“Ah, it is funny, non?” Fleur tried brushing away some of the tears that lingered on her cheeks but only managed to smear some blood on her face. She didn’t seem to notice, “The last time you were here, I was taking care of you.”

Hermione didn’t find it particularly funny, and felt more like an idiot for not realizing where they were. “You still own the cottage, right?” Fleur nodded. “Come on.”

She helped her up, wrapping a protective arm around her waist before letting Fleur lead the way back. Fleur didn’t need the support and Hermione didn’t need to hold as tightly as she did, but they both didn’t want to be the first to let go. 

Eventually, they did part once they were in the cottage. It was just as cold inside as out, and a thin layer of sandy dust settled over everything. They were soon both shivering, Fleur’s blood stained shirt clung to her. Hermione tried to get water from the faucet to run, but the pipes had frozen. 

She managed to find a large quilt from storage, and when she came back, Fleur was piling wood into the fireplace. Hermione went to wrap the quilt around her shoulders, but Fleur stood up and started to take off her shirt. 

“Um…” was all Hermione could squeak out. 

In the low lantern light, Fleur’s pale skin seemed to glow softly. Her hips curved around to meet her toned abs that stretched up with her equally strong arms until her shirt lifted to reveal the swell of her breast which strained against her simple blue bra as she sighed. All the dreams that Hermione had of Fleur disappeared as the reality surpassed them because she could just reach out, feel the softness of her skin, watch as she arched just like that underneath her, and make her-

“Mrs. Weasley would kill me, if she found blood on this quilt.” Fleur’s half smile didn’t reach her eyes, and Hermione quickly turned around, lighting the fire with her wand a little too enthusiastically. Luckily, there wasn’t much around the fireplace to burn, and the fire died down to a reasonable size soon. 

When she turned around, Fleur was trying to rub the now dried blood off her stomach with not much success. And before she let herself have another moment of admiring gorgeous physique, she wrapped the quilt around Fleur’s shoulders, reminding herself that Fleur couldn’t be her’s. 

Hermione pulled a different quilt around her own shoulders before sitting a respectable distance away from her in front of the fire, trying to keep her shivering under control. “Sorry, the pipes froze. I’m sure Molly will understand.” She kept her voice clipped and in control, but all she could focus on was how Fleur sat right next to her, knees almost brushing. 

They sat in silence for a long while, and Hermione couldn’t help but wonder how they could have gotten so close so quickly only to end up here. Fleur ended up leaning on Hermione’s shoulder and soon her breathing was deep and even. Hermione pulled her into a more comfortable position, not willing to move away from the fire or Fleur, and looked down at her face. She realized Fleur hadn’t been lying about the stress of work, seeing it under her eyes and the frown she held even in sleep. Fleur shivered slightly in her sleep, neither dressed for the late night chill that the fire even had trouble keeping at bay. So, Hermione laid down next to her, wrapping her own quilt around her curled frame, offering what little warmth she had. And soon, sleep found Hermione.

She awoke in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Hermione’s whole body ached, and the sunlight streamed in too bright, bathing the room in a blinding white. But it wasn’t the ache of the cold, for some reason she couldn’t remember how she had gotten here and she was starting to grow worried. When she tried to move, her arms felt full of fire and her back howled at her. Hermione’s heart pounded against her rib cage, desperate for answers. 

The door started to open; she squinted against the light, trying to raise a hand against it was excruciating and useless. But soon, she saw Fleur float through the open doorway, and she leaned back against the pillows content. But, the pain didn’t subside. 

“Ma chèrie…” Fleur’s words danced over to her, tangled in happiness and worry. Hermione tried to focus on her, but either the pain or the light made Fleur's outline fuzzy. But she soon kneeled by the bed, and Hermione gazed up at her filled with happiness despite the pain. 

Hermione tried to speak, ask her what had happened, desperately trying to remember what had brought her here. But, as soon as her lips had parted, Fleur’s own brushed against her’s, cautious at first, but when Hermione’s met hers eagerly, she gave into Hermione’s desperation. 

She tried to take in every moment. The pain disappeared as she felt the silk of her lips slide against hers. She could smell the light lavender scent that always followed Fleur, and she was so happy she almost laughed into the kiss.

But as their lips moved more quickly against each other, Hermione felt the silky lips grow cracked and Fleur’s mouth felt sharp against her own. When Hermione tried to pull back, she bit hard on Hermione’s lower lip and the pain replaced the pleasure again, but Hermione found herself paralyzed unable to scream out or move. 

Her eyes shot open, but instead of Fleur’s face, Bellatrix Lestrange’s cruel face smiled madly down at her and released her cackling. She raised her wand against the helpless Hermione and she watched as the unfortunately familiar words tumbled from her cracked lips and Hermione’s world ignited into an inferno that she never wished on anyone. 

“‘Ermione! ‘Ermione! ‘Ermione!” Hermione’s eyes snapped open to find herself fighting against Fleur, the quilts scattered around them, and her own clothes soaked in sweat despite the fire only being embers now. 

Fleur looked upset and concerned, and Hermione couldn’t help but to collapse into tears on her bare chest. She took this change in stride, and held Hermione tightly to her. Her long fingers catching slightly on the fabric of her shirt as she rubbed her back. Hermione had her face buried between Fleur’s neck and shoulder, but she couldn’t register anything besides trying to get herself in control again, her breath coming too quickly now, the world spinning and shaking. She felt the vibrations of Fleur’s soft comforting words flowing between French and English and meaning nothing to Hermione.

After what felt like an eternity of her heart beating out of her chest and not being able to breathe, Hermione came back. She felt limp against Fleur, her arms were wrapped around her and the pads of her fingers pressed into the soft skin of her back, desperately trying to hold onto her. Hermione could feel Fleur’s strong arms around herself, not letting go despite the tears drying on Hermione’s face and Fleur’s neck. 

Hermione had a moment where she could imagine what they looked like. Two lovers locked in each other’s arms, the blankets spread about them, as if they had been messed up by happiness. It struck her as funny, how far from the truth something could look like, but she didn’t laugh, only sighed and pushed away from Fleur. She knew it was one thing to be comforted by someone and another to continue lying in their arms when they belonged to another. 

Fleur hesitated a moment, but she let Hermione put the distance between them. Hermione sat up, trying not to feel the cold as they separated, trying not to watch the goose flesh rise where she had been pressed against Fleur. 

She wrapped her arms around herself once she was sitting up, shivering in the late morning cold. But Fleur wrapped one of the blankets around her, wiping the last of her tears with the lightest brushes of her thumb on Hermione’s cheeks while she desperately tried to avoid Fleur’s concerned blue eyes. 

“‘Ermione…” Fleur’s voice broke a little. She didn’t pull a blanket around herself, instead her hands stopped wiping the tears away and cupped Hermione’s face so gently her fingers only brushed her skin, as if any true connection may cause her to shatter. 

Hermione was sure Fleur could feel the heat radiating off her face, but she pushed Fleur’s hands down with one of her own, the other clutching the blanket to her until her knuckles ached. “Don’t…” Was all she could say, unable to let go of Fleur’s hands.

Fleur just shook her head, “Why?! Why not?!” She gripped Hermione’s hand back, their fingers entwining, lending each other what little warmth they had. 

“It’s not decent!” Hermione was livid to keep her anger and whatever foolish attraction she had at bay. 

But it was Fleur’s turn to be furious, and her grip hardened and her voice darkened, “Don’t. Ever. Say. That. I ‘ave loved you ever since I saw you in the library. I never stopped loving you, even as I watched men like Krum, Ron, and fucking Jim just waltz into your life. And I never said a word, even when I watched you keep the whole world from falling apart despite how broken you were because it was the decent thing to do. What is so indecent about zis?” 

“How about the part where you have a girlfriend?” Hermione was shocked at such a declaration, but she still had her morals.

Fleur stilled, looking very confused. “Quoi?”

Hermione stood now, crossing her arms, trying to look angry despite being wrapped in a giant blanket. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know.” But Fleur just sat shocked on the floor. “Do I have to spell it out for you? I believe the phrase you used was ‘my dear, dear friend’!” Hermione glared at the wall, unable to look at Fleur who was still huddled on the floor half-naked and very confused. 

Until she heard Fleur laughing a few tense moments later. She looked at her shocked. Fleur eventually gained some control and she stood, her usual grace lost to the cold and her amusement. “I’m sorry, but you’re talking about the book, non?”

“Yes, I’m talking about the bloody book!” Shock was the only thing keeping Hermione from running out the door. 

“You cannot be jealous of Florence?” Hermione didn’t share Fleur’s amusement or smile, and instead, she stormed out the door not listening to Fleur’s cries to wait. 

Fleur accidentally stepped on the blanket jerking Hermione back into Fleur’s still bare arms. The quilt fell into the sand, and Fleur explained while Hermione pushed her away. “She is my neighbor. She is 93!” 

Hermione stopped where she had been storming away suddenly feeling the weight of her idiocy crash down on her. “Per’aps, 60 years ago I would ‘ave said yes, but now…” Fleur half smiled at Hermione while she wrapped her arms around herself, shivering violently in the biting winter wind coming off the ocean. Hermione saw her lips were almost blue with the cold. 

Once Hermione had recovered, she reached down and grabbed the quilt which was trapped by Fleur’s foot. Hermione shook out the sand as best as she could before wrapping it around Fleur now. When their eyes met, they both blurted out, “I’m sorry.” 

Hermione started to laugh, but a shiver went through her violently. Fleur brought the quilt around both of them, protecting them from the rest of the world. Hermione tilted her head up to look at Fleur who leaned down, and finally, their lips ghosted against one another, cold noses brushing. Fleur sighed and Hermione pressed forward, forgetting the cold, the confusion and feeling only Fleur’s lips working against her own just as eager. Hermione’s hands reached out to rest on Fleur’s waist. 

But she yelped and jumped away, and Hermione immediately went from blissfully happy to concerned. “Are you hurt? Are you ok?”

Fleur laughed lightly, “Non, non, I am fine. But your ‘ands are freezing!” And Hermione couldn’t help but laugh too. Until she got the wicked idea to start tickling her, which led to Fleur running back into the house and Hermione chasing her. 

They collapsed into a mess of giggling limbs in front of the fireplace, and eventually, they regained enough control to light it again. Fleur grabbed both of Hermione’s hands in her own, rubbing them to try to warm them, before she kissed her hands, “Cold ‘ands, warm ‘eart.” Smiling and blushing in the glow of the fire light. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, “Who thought you would be such a romantic?”

“Je suis française.” Fleur said with a wink. 

They sat as close together as they could, and soon found themselves kissing slowly in the firelight. Hermione’s newly warmed hands had no problem exploring up and down Fleur’s sides and back as the French witch straddled her. Soon Fleur’s mouth was on Hermione’s neck, and she couldn’t hold back a moan. 

Until a loud crack sounded from outside. Fleur was up in a second, wand out and at the ready. She pushed Hermione behind her slightly as the door burst open. Hermione lunged for her wand where is had rolled away on the ground.

But the door opened to reveal a very cross red headed witch. “Oh bloody hell! I told them you two were fine!” She threw up her hands in exasperation, not caring that she had two wands pointed at her.

Fleur pointed her wand to punctuate her words. “Ginny! You nearly scared me ‘alf to death!” She crossed her arms, not bothered by her semi-nakedness as Hermione was. “Why are you ‘ere?!”

Ginny looked between the two of them, grinning. “Well, I certainly know why you two are here.” 

“Ginny!”

“Right, right. Hermione didn’t show up for work so everyone assumed it was the end of the world-” 

Hermione nearly fainted, slapping her forehead, “How the hell did I forget about work?!” 

“I said you two were probably finally shagging somewhere.” Fleur started tapping her shoe not impressed by Ginny’s smug smile. “But Seamus and Dean said you never came back last night, so Harry sent a few of us out looking.” 

“I was… Upset. And ‘ad some… trouble apparating last night so we stayed here.” Fleur blushed. 

“She lost her pinky.” Hermione translated.

Fleur rolled her eyes, waving her hand. “I am fine.” 

Ginny laughed, “Oh really.” Her grinning started to unnerve the other two witches slightly. 

“Why are you so happy?” Fleur put the ruined shirt back on. 

“Oh, you just made me very, very rich.” Fleur and Hermione rolled their eyes, both crossing their arms which made Ginny laugh harder. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the look on Seamus’s face.”


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione would have hexed anyone who said she was like a lovestruck schoolgirl because she would never let anything distract her from her work and because she hated such ridiculous notions that girls as a whole were so easily distracted. But the truth was, she was counting down the days to the weekend when she could see Fleur again. Not that she would admit it out loud. 

Seamus was putting on a good show of being annoyed, but in truth, his version of revenge was to steal kisses from Dean in an attempt to embarrass both Hermione and Dean but neither seemed to mind. Everyone was so wrapped up in their own happiness not even the belligerent drunks or classist wizards could bring their mood down. In fact, they were all so happy Ginny started deliberately avoiding them because it was exhausting. 

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Saturday finally came. Hermione had double and triple checked Fleur’s last letter, hastily written in between the busy hours of work that wrote out promises in perfect penmanship, i’s dotted t’s crossed, which Hermione had always taken to be a mark of good character. 

But now she stood in front of the large, intimidating Wardrobe with for once in her life, a blank mind. She had absolutely no clue what to wear for a person whose idea of nice clothes wasn’t something without a food stain on it. Or for that matter, what they were doing, or what Fleur expected of her. For the first time in her life, she agreed with Ron and Harry that there should be a class at Hogwarts, or anywhere for that matter, on how to woo women. The books she had previously found on this subject, she had found to either wholly unhelpful or completely sexist. 

She was saved from her own ranting mind by a rustling in the corner with the paintings. So Hermione tied her bathrobe tighter and pulled her wand out determined to do something, even if it was to chase out some mice that had been banging through the walls at odd hours of the night. 

When she lifted the paint splattered canvas sheet, there were no mice. Instead one of the paintings underneath showed a very naked Seamus and Dean, in a very compromising position, and very much enjoying themselves. Hermione leaped back with a, “MERLIN’S BEARD!!!”

She wasted no time storming downstairs, her fluffy bathrobe not quite matching her anger. Once she located Seamus, who was restocking the bar with their latest shipment, she cornered him absolutely livid. “What the bloody hell were you thinking?” 

Seamus looked back at her with a mixture of fear and confusion, hands up just in case. “Whatever it is, it’s probably my fault, but I would still like to know what happened, you know so they can write it on my tombstone.”

“You know what!” Dean took this moment to unfortunately pop his head of the kitchen, which proved to be a grave mistake. “You certainly know! It is your portrait!”

Dean’s face fell and he looked back at the kitchen longingly, wondering why he ever chose to leave it’s safety. “I am so sorry. I asked if you wanted me to move the portraits. I didn’t know which ones were there.” He glared pointedly at Seamus who was trying not to laugh, now that he realized what had happened.

Hermione glared at him, Seamus was now red in the face with trying not to laugh. “It’s not funny! What if a muggle couple had seen! What if it was a ministry official!”Hermione hissed, and Dean opened his mouth to protest. “I mean other than me!” She pulled her bathrobe tighter, crossing her arms.

“Hermione.” Dean began, but a loud crack on the stairs interrupted them. 

And Hermione turned her fury on whoever had decided to apparate at such an inopportune moment, which just happened to be Mrs. Weasley. They stared at each other in shock for a few moments, which was ample time for both Seamus and Dean to sneak away muttering excuses and greetings.

“Oh good you’re here, Hermione.” Mrs. Weasley started first.

“Um, yes. How are you?” Hermione said, her horror making her fall back on her manners. 

“Fine.” Mrs. Weasley stood stiffly, equally unsure. Her hair, now streaked equally with silver and red, was pinned under her hat and she was fully dressed. Hermione was seriously regretting her choice in bathrobe and lack of hair control potion.

“I’ve been told what-” “Can I get dressed first?” They both began. 

They laughed nervously together. “Of course, dear. I’ll get us a table.” 

Hermione popped into the kitchen, intending on letting Dean or Seamus know to send some breakfast to Mrs. Weasley, only to walk in on them with their arms wrapped around each other, their tongues down each other’s throats, and not an inch of space between their hips. Hermione opened her mouth to yell at them, but Dean moaned a little louder than she had ever wanted to hear from her friend and she decided to just leave. 

As she turned to go, another loud crack sounded from the broom closet that everyone apparated in and out of. Hermione started to rush up the stairs, hoping that she could avoid having yet another person she knew see her in her bathrobe. 

But alas, today was most certainly not her day, and Fleur opened the door just in time to collide with Hermione. “Ma Chérie!” Fleur looked down at her horrified, and Hermione allowed herself a moment of absolute, mortifying embarrassment before getting up. 

Hermione lifted her chin and brushed off her bathrobe with as much dignity as she could muster, pointedly ignoring the apologies from Fleur and the stares from Seamus and Dean who had popped their head out from the kitchen more cautiously this time. Fleur tried to apologize again, but Hermione held up a hand and as calmly as she could said, “I am going to get changed, and when I get back, all laughter and mention of this will be ceased.” She didn’t wait for anyone to agree with her, and instead went to her room, without noticing that Fleur was following her.

She shut her door and stood once again in front of her wardrobe. Hermione hung her bathrobe up, and for a brief moment, considered burning it. But as she was fantasizing about that, she heard a cautious knock at the door. With a slight sigh and dismissing any pyro-fantasies, she opened the door. 

Fleur still looked mortified, but Hermione let her in. “I am so sorry.” Fleur began.

But Hermione interrupted her, “Please, for my sake, don’t mention it.”

Fleur smiled slightly and started to giggle failing to hide it behind a hand. Hermione turned around ready for the day to be over already. “I am sorry, m’amour. It is just zat,” Fleur had to take a moment to control her giggling, “I do not usually ‘it the girl I am ‘itting on.” 

Hermione groaned as Fleur collapsed in a chair in a fit of laughter, but eventually Hermione did smile and walk over to her. “That was absolutely awful.”

“I am sorry, Bill thought it was necessary for me to learn puns.” Fleur smiled up at her not looking sorry at all, before standing very close to Hermione. “Is there anything I can do to apologize?” Fleur breathed close to her, leaning in enough for Hermione to notice the tired circles under her eyes and the weight she put on her hand holding onto Hermione’s hip. 

“Are you alright?” Hermione couldn’t stop herself, despite the inviting closeness of Fleur’s lips.

Fleur snorted, “I can zink of a few zings zat will make me feel better.” She pushed Hermione back towards the bed. 

“Fleur…” Hermione tried to remember her concern, really tried, until right before Fleur’s lips brushed lightly against her’s, pulling back before Hermione could kiss her properly. By the time the back of her knees hit the bed, and she collapsed finally kissing Fleur as they fell together on the bed, she had completely forgotten her entire morning ordeal. 

And as they were laying there, their lips moving against one another’s without any sort of hesitation, she felt the joy of her week condensing into one moment. As Fleur moved from her lips, leaving Hermione gasping for air while she worked her way down her neck, liberally using her teeth and tongue, Hermione suddenly pushed Fleur off of her shouting, “Mrs. Weasley!”

She ran to her wardrobe and started ripping out the most conservative clothing she could find. Fleur sat up on the bed, “Ummm, I am not sure if I am missing an English custom. But, in France, we do not shout our ex-mother-in-law’s name in bed. Well, most of ze time.” Hermione looked back at Fleur, who seemed unconcerned if amused, with her blonde hair mussed up around her like a halo.

Hermione didn’t give a second thought to modesty as she stripped, throwing on her other clothes as quickly as possible, “No! She’s downstairs! I almost forgot!”

“Merde!” Fleur now hurried over to a mirror desperately trying to fix her hair. “You could have warned me!” 

“You are very distracting!” Hermione said while breaking another hair tie, trying to tame her hair. “Don’t look so smug! That is not a compliment right now.” 

Fleur looked utterly exhausted at the idea of seeing her ex-mother-in-law, and Hermione paused at the door. “You don’t have to go, you look tired, and she’s not looking for you. Unless, Ginny’s been running her mouth…”

“A Delacour never looks tired. I just… Came ‘ere from work, I knew I would not sleep knowing I would see you again.” Fleur invaded her space again, looking down with a winning smile. 

“No, no. You won’t distract me again, into bed with you!” Fleur raised an eyebrow and Hermione had to roll her eyes. “Alone. I will deal with Mrs. Weasley, you need to sleep.” 

After a quick kiss, Fleur started walking over to the bed, and Hermione left before she could embarrass her with another innuendo. As she was walking down the stairs, Seamus shot her a wink before going back into the kitchen. Dean let her know that he would remove the painting while very determinedly avoiding eye contact.

But Hermione did not have any chance to dwell on this, as Mrs. Weasley was sitting at the corner with two plates brimming with breakfast foods. It struck Hermione as extremely peculiar to see Mrs. Weasley sitting quietly with a cup of tea and looking out the window without a house full of children or grandchildren or any of their friends. She looked like any other older woman taking a vacation, waiting patiently at the table for her husband or traveling companion. 

Hermione’s mind couldn’t help but wonder if she would sit in her spot, an elderly Seamus or Dean coming with age spotted hands to refill her tea, still unable to keep their hands off each other. Would Fleur be there? Hermione could picture her where Mrs. Weasley sat now. Her hair without any silver but the lines in her face and eternal, impeccable posture ensuring that she aged gracefully into a great matriarch. When she reached the table, she hadn’t the chance to imagine herself in the fantasy.

“I was worried the food was going to get cold.” Mrs. Weasley said.

“I’m sorry, I got… Held up.” Or down, Hermione took a sip of the somewhat tepid tea to hide her small smile. She kept her spine straight, and tried to mimic what she had seen of Fleur’s table manners, refusing to give Mrs. Weasley anything else to complain about in what was sure to be a long, long speech about family conduct. 

“Well, anyways…” Mrs. Weasley pushed around some of the beans on her plate, before looking directly at her and it took all of Hermione’s effort not to choke on her toast in fear of the head of the Weasley family. “You look well.”

This did make Hermione choke on her food, ruining any lady-like quality she may have previously cultivated. Mrs. Weasley accustomed to the less than savory eating habits of Ron simply continued, “I would have visited you sooner, but I was at Bill and Michael’s. They have a lovely flat in Vauxhall.”

Hermione kept quiet unsure where this was going. “Ron did eventually tell me, after he showed up at home looking for you this Monday.” Hermione grimaced a little, and started to explain but Mrs. Weasley kept going. “Now, I’m not happy with it. Ron was a good boy and he’s become a good man. But, you are my daughter, have been since Percy wrote home that Ron and Harry had befriended you.” 

While this was very sweet, Hermione was waiting for the other shoe to drop, particularly the Fleur one. When it didn’t, the words tightly laced with relief and gratitude rushed out, “Thank you so much. I worried because of your dislike for Fleur-”

Mrs. Weasley looked confused, “What does Fleur have to do with this?” She was starting to turn an impressive shade of red.

“Well, it’s, well,” Hermione sputtered, looking around in panic, unable to find Seamus and Dean. “I thought Ginny would have told you.”

“What is my daughter keeping from me?” Mrs. Weasley said in a calm tone that was overshadowed by her almost purple face.

“She wasn’t keeping it-” 

“Hermione Jean Granger.”

“Well, Fleur and I.” Hermione’s mouth opened and shut several times, trying to find the actual words but unwilling to let the two alarming conversations merge. “That is to say, Fleur, umm…” 

“First she uses Bill, and now-”

“That’s not what happened, and we both know that.”

Mrs. Weasley glared at her, but Hermione was not going to back down from this point. Instead, she stood and smoothed down her skirt, calmly stating. “This is my home right now, and I will not have my friends or myself attacked in it. So, I hope you enjoy the rest of your meal, but I will be unable to join you.” 

As she turned to walk away, Mrs. Weasley stood with a sigh. “Hermione, wait. I just want to know.” She looked down at the table, one hand still tightly gripping the back of her chair. “Will you still visit? With the children? Perhaps Christmas?”

Hermione looked at her and found out why it was so peculiar to see Mrs. Weasley alone. With her family about her, she was brimming with life. Without, all the years of heartache and the ghosts seemed to catch up to her. And so, Hermione went to her and hugged her, whispering a quiet, “Of course.” 

When she stepped away, Hermione felt the weight of the whole ridiculous morning catching up to her. And so, she went upstairs because when faced with the decision of facing what had already been a trying day and a beautiful woman in her bed, Hermione knew she would most definitely pick the latter. 

She couldn’t help but pause in the doorway, careful to not make a noise. Fleur was huddled under the covers, her outline curved into a ball making her seem impossibly small. One hand stretched under her face which was delicate and calm in sleep, the other half gripped the blanket closer to her. Her golden hair spread around her head on the pillow, but to call it a halo would dismiss the strength and presence that even her small huddled sleeping form still held. Instead, Hermione thought it reminded her of a galea, protecting her even in her dreams. 

Hermione removed her shoes, and laid down on top of the sheets next to Fleur, unwilling to wake her up and unsure of what was proper in such a situation. Instead, she let Fleur sleep and picked up one of the many books she had been neglecting this week. 

Eventually, Fleur did roll over towards her, blinking with a furrowed brow. “Pourquoi are you not in bed avec moi?” Hermione snorted still looking at her book, but Fleur’s arm sluggishly escaped from her tangle of blankets to wrap itself around Hermione’s waist with a surprising strength. She buried her face into Hermione’s side mumbling more, the vibrations tickling her side. 

Laughing, Hermione gave in getting under the sheets with Fleur who hummed happily before groaning, “Mnrrr, I should get up. I am wasting the day.”

“No, we have the whole weekend.” They were nose to nose, and Fleur’s eyes were already closed, a light smile resting on her lips. Hermione moved closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, kissed her forehead. Fleur inched impossibly closer and tucked herself into the crook of Hermione’s neck, their limbs tangling together. 

Hermione closed her eyes, and the smell of Fleur’s light lavender scent filled her lungs. She sighed. As she started to fall asleep, the last thing she thought was, this morning wasn’t all bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a little late, but I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a few chapters of this written and I will try to post weekly. This pair needed more fics because this fandom will never die. Also the Mature rating is for later chapters, as this is a slow burn, but I will warn for smut chapters so that those who just want some fluff can avoid. If you enjoy comment below, also I can be found on Tumblr at the same username if you ever need to scream about this pair.


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